Invisible String - Sebastian Sallow

Chapter Eight: Spectator Sport

It was early when Imelda and I were walking down to the Quidditch Pitch on Saturday morning, my broom slung over my shoulder, my Quidditch robes silver detailing glimmering lightly in the early morning sun. The grass still had its layer of morning dew dripping from the green blades, my boot tips dampened quickly as we tromped through the green grass, weeds and flowers. Imelda and I chatted happily as we went, noticing flecks of other students milling around the entrance to the pitch.

She really hadn't been kidding about students coming to watch.

I noted robes from every house, and my heart quickened just slightly. Just how many people was I going to have to train in front of today? Sure, my lessons had been going well, and I hadn't missed a shot with the Quaffle yet, but I wasn't expecting to have more than a handful of students watch today.

There was a large group of Slytherin boys clutching broomsticks eagerly themselves, though as we approached they tried to play it off. I noted how a few of them looked away from us, only for their eyes to dart back every couple of seconds. I followed Imelda's lead here, keeping my nose high in the air and walking straight past them without casting a backwards look at any of them.

As we entered the locker rooms, I turned to her. "What should we do with the gaggle of boys who seem to think today is tryouts?"

She smirked at me, "Oh, let them try and keep up. It will save us from having to go through everyone on Wednesday. Let's see if they can keep up with the two best flyers this schools seen in years."

I was reminded immediately here of just why I liked Imelda Reyes. She was a fierce competitor and she commanded respect. Once you had hers, she opened up from the cold front she seemed to give off. I remembered when she had given me tips on how to beat her time when I'd finally earned her respect in fifth year, and I grinned wickedly back at her.

"I bet you five Sickles that MacNair falls off his broom when the Bludger gets anywhere near him."

"I'll take that bet, Crane. Now," she said, hoisting the large box that held the Quaffle, Bludgers and Golden Snitch in it under her arm, "let's go. We've got to scare all the other houses watching."

I followed her back from the locker rooms and once we were center of the pitch immediately mounted my broom and kicked off the ground. The wind blew cold and crisp through my hair, making my eyes water just slightly and I breathed in deeply. I shot off around the pitch, making sure to go as fast as I could for my warm up lap.

Everyone in the stands below were simply specks of random color, dotting my peripheral vision, and despite my nerves upon seeing the crowds milling, suddenly, they didn't matter. Nothing but the joy of flying could have distracted me from all of them and I found myself at the opposite end of the pitch from Imelda in no time.

She held up one hand, Quaffle clutched in it and I focused in on it. We were starting with keep away. I saw three of the boys from by the locker rooms floating off to the side, clearly waiting to be queued in on the training, and I knew we weren't going to give them that satisfaction. I darted forward with a sudden burst of speed, making my way to Imelda listening hard for the Bludgers she was sure to have sent up.

Sure enough, I heard the whistle to my right and dipped my broom forward just as the Bludger would have made contact with my arm. I heard a couple of gasps from the stands but didn't pause to look at the faces of the few students watching.

Let them be impressed.

I pushed my broom forward, catapulting forward to Imelda, the brooms of the boys wheezing desperately to keep up with mine. So they had caught on, and whether because of more training experience or because my own broom was simply superior, I was within range first.